Ben Dickey
Joined January 2021
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Book of Lost Days
It was with a deep, almost preternatural sense of purpose – the kind that only surfaces a handful of times in our lives – that Mason decided to ride to the old Millford Hospital. He had been feeling cooped up in his small, basement apartment. The whining of the generator persisted inexorably, giving him headaches, while the meagre windows did little to bring in any substantial indication of the outside world. His footsteps back and forth through its modest rooms, only seemed to be retracing a journey increasingly pointed towards vacuity. In his head, he imagined them plotted out in a kind of cartesian timelapse – curving and overlapping ad infinitum, like the lines of a Jackson Pollock, stuck on repeat.
By Ben Dickey3 years ago in Futurism